


Escape

by ByJoveWhatASpend



Series: Escape [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Cheating, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Polyamory, Unhealthy Relationships, Waylon Park isn't a good person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByJoveWhatASpend/pseuds/ByJoveWhatASpend
Summary: Waylon Park is looking for an excuse.Any excuse.His life is perfect and he would give anything to get away from it... anything Except speak up.How Waylon Park worked up the courage to blow the whistle on Murkoff(now in fic form)
Relationships: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park, Jeremy Blaire/Waylon Park, Lisa Park/Waylon Park, lisa park/original male character
Series: Escape [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610761
Kudos: 11





	Escape

Jeremy Blaire Sun, Sept 09, 10:36 PM   
to me

Waylon Park

Be prepared to show your photo ID at the gate, the security guards are hourly and can get pretty nasty if they think you’re trespassing. Also, please call me on my personal cell if you have any trouble finding the place. Better men than we have ended up turned around on those mountain roads. Don’t be afraid to reach out. If you embarrass yourself by driving off a cliff just remember that we here at Murkoff will only be laughing at you until you leave.

Jeremy Blaire, Executive Vice President of Global Development

Waylon stares at the email, scratching his thumbnail over his teeth. There was an aggressively casual tone to it, as all of the correspondence between them had been, and it makes him uncomfortable. It felt like a test. If he responded casually would Blaire decide he wasn’t professional enough? If he responded too formally did that mean he wouldn't fit into the fun office environment that Murkoff wanted to cultivate?

A moan comes through his headphones, and he turns his eyes from the screen on instinct. The room is pitch dark behind him, his eyes adjusted to the bright screen. He turns the screen to try to light up the hallway behind him, but the shifting shadow of the lamp twists his stomach. The moan comes again, warbly, ghostly, feminine. 

He sets the laptop back on the couches squishy arm and starts to type, in the hope that it will drown out the noise.

Waylon Park Mon, Sept 10, 1:13 AM   
to jeremy.blaire

I’ll keep that in mind, though I’m pretty sure I can handle it. I should   
be there by nine but I’ll leave earlier than planned just in case. 

He removes his headphones just long enough to hear Lisa’s muffled begging, before quickly switching over to a music streaming site to drown it out. He used to like her voice, especially during sex. It had a musical quality, raising and lowering and always loud. She was active, confident, and never afraid to get her way. He’d loved that about her. 

He still did, when their clothes were on.

Jeremy Blaire Mon, Sept 10, 1:16 AM   
to me

Waylon Park

Early Bird or Night Owl? Best get to bed soon or you might wreck on the way here.   
Then where would Murkoff be?

Jeremy Blaire, Executive Vice President of Global Development

Waylon lifts his headphones again. There is a distant giggle, along with a low, murmuring voice. A few more minutes and it will be safe to go. If he hadn’t stayed up late in the first place he could have been in bed hours ago, but it was his own fault.

A door opens, the bathroom light turns on behind him, then closes again.

Waylon Park Mon, Sept 10, 1:20 AM   
to jeremy.blaire

You got it Boss.

His finger hovers over the send button for a few seconds too long as he rereads it in different tones of voice. He adds a simple ‘Goodnight’ to the end of it, agonizing for a few more long moments before hitting send and closing the screen. 

Lisa tiptoes into the living room in the dark, wrapping her arms around his neck. She squeezes him gently against her warm, plush breasts as she kisses his head, and he pretends it isn’t stifling. “You weren’t just sitting in the dark, were you?” she asks, guilty and worried. 

“Nah. I heard you in the bathroom so I was just waiting up.” He stretches his neck up to kiss her. Lisa’s searching tongue tastes like mouthwash, and her sweaty curls tickle his cheeks. She keeps him there, squeezing her biceps around his ears until all he can hear is his own heartbeat.When she finally lets him go he moves quickly off the couch, turning and taking her hand in his. He kicks a book and steps on a misplaced shoe, hissing in discomfort. “Bed? Bed now?”

“Bed now.” she agrees, making sympathetic sounds and helping lead him safely to the bedroom. “You take the left side--I’ll take the wet spot.” 

“That’s only fair.” Waylon pulls the thin sheet up and curls onto the safe side of the bed, pressing his nose into the pillow and giving it a suspicious sniff. Everything in the room smells like body odor, salt, and the oddly sweet smell of lubricant. Some days it will turn his stomach, but tonight it has him pressing his thighs together and breathing slowly through his nose, enjoying the images it brings.

Lisa’s hand is warm on his shoulder as she reaches across the gap. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispers.

“I’d say if I wasn’t.” he lies, putting his own smaller hand over hers. Her skin feels incredibly warm against his own. “I’m just anxious about tomorrow.”

“It’s only two weeks.” From her lips it sounds like a lifetime. 

He squeezes her hand to keep her from crying. “You’ll hardly notice it. You’ll fall in love with all the legroom you’ll get in bed and ill have to spend half the check on getting us a kingsize.”

“I like our queen!”

“We’ll see how you feel about it in two weeks.”

The door opens behind them, feet pad almost silently across the carpet. The entire bed dips as Moose crawls in between them, warm and large and slightly damp from his quick shower. Waylon curls up tightly to give him room to wriggle himself beneath the sheets, but once he's settled in he and Lisa curl up against his sides. 

Waylon's knee nudges gently against Moose’s soft, unclothed clock, just barely able to resist the urge to grind against his hip. 

“You gonna miss us, Way?” he asks, his voice a pleasant rumble in the dark, his breathe still smelling like Lisa. He had forgotten to brush his teeth before bed. 

Waylon might miss them. He had not tested the idea of sleeping alone in many years, beyond the occasional nap on the couch, from which he always woke with a blanket lovingly tucked around him.   
“Of course I will. Now hush. I need to get up early.” he says, snuggling his nose into Moose’s pit. The heavy masculine scent he couldn’t make himself was soothing, sickening, arousing. Life would be so much easier if he hated Moose. 

There is wriggling and shifting, halfhearted touches and flirting between them, but Lisa and Moose eventually begin to quietly snore. Waylon is glad of it. Even when he was more interested in joining in with them he found their sexual appetites exhausting. Even with the thin sheet and cool air Waylon begins to feel overwhelmed by their shared body heat.  
The clock glows ‘2:00 AM’ when Waylon finally extracts himself from the two of them and turns away, hugging his cool pillow and pushing the sheets back onto Moose, all except for his feet, which he keeps safely entwined with Lisa’s, safe from nightmares.

*X*

In the morning he sits at the table, drinking iced mocha with one hand and petting Ripley’s hair with the other. He was getting big these days, big enough that his dead weight was making Waylon's leg numb. There would probably be a bit of drool on his shoulder, but Ripley had insisted he be pulled from his crib, and since it would be two weeks until he was home again Waylon didn’t feel right saying ‘no’.

Even if Ripley was probably too young to really notice the difference.

“Don’t freak out if he cries when you get back.” Moose warns as he portions out a hot coffee for Lisa. She’s still in the bathroom but she can’t wake up properly without it. “It’s nothing personal. It might just be because he missed you.”

“Or he forgot what I look like.” Waylon doesn’t really mean it. Beneath the drool stain his son is leaving behind there is a tiny spaceman tattooed into his skin, with Ripley's name on their badge. 

“That would never happen. He’s way too much of a M- of a Daddy’s boy.” Moose’s memorial tattoo is visible in the pale morning light. Just a simple ‘Ripley’ on his shoulder in thick, bold script. Turned away, his other shoulder says ‘Shepard’, just the same. “See, you’re getting mopey after all. Starting to dread it?”

“No.” Waylon is wondering when it would be appropriate to leave. His drink is almost finished and Ripley is fast asleep.

“Softie.”

Lisa finally makes her way into the kitchen. She misses him already, loudly and tearily, and every time Waylon moves for the door she pulls him in for one last hug and kiss. 

Moose ends up taking his suitcase and computer bag while Waylon goes back inside to give Ripley one last kiss. Him and Shepard are both awake now, playing quietly in their cribs. Shepard babbles meaningless nonsense to Waylon, reaching up with pale fingers which Waylon kisses, even though they are wet with drool. He kisses his head of brown curls next, subtly wiping the spit from his lips there, and tells Shepard to be good.

Ripley, withdrawn and quiet as ever, hardly looks up from the plush alien toy pinched tightly between his dark little fists. They’ll need to restuff it soon, the way he carries it around by the throat. “It’s hard being well loved, huh buddy?” Wayon whispers as he kisses his sons straight dark hair, ruffled up like a roosters from being played with. Waylon ruffles it a bit more, smoothing the sides into a proper mohawk, before patting his round cheek and walking away.

They probably won't notice he’s gone, and Waylon crosses his fingers as he drives away from Glenwood Springs.


End file.
